


Untitled

by Quanna



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Dissociation, Gen, PTSD flashbacks, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 23:16:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4038319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quanna/pseuds/Quanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor helps Clara through a PTSD-induced panic attack/flashbacks. </p>
<p>Set sometime after Last Christmas</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I wrote this last night before going to sleep, because I woke up to find it on my laptop just now. Thought I'd post it here. Un-betaèd and written in a semi-conscious state of sleep deprivation. 
> 
> Trigger warnings for: panic-attacks and/or PTSD flashbacks, dissociation and general sadness. I can't write happy things apparently. 
> 
> Doesn't have a title yet, I might change that when I've had some coffee.

He finds her on the sofa in the observatorium, arms round her knees and head tucked in between her shoulders. Hair tousled, bare feet and flimsy night shirt. Everything about her posture is meant to imply a calm reservedness, a “come back later” practically in neon above her head. He sees straight through it, can feel the distress radiating off her in nauseating waves. It’s not all his unfortunately heightened psychic senses either; by now he’s as fluent in her body-language as she is in his. 

He coughs to announce his presence, making soft noises with his feet as he approaches the sofa. He crouches down a few inches from where she’s huddled, careful not to crowd her.   
“Clara?” he calls her name softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Clara, it’s okay. You’re in the Tardis. You’re safe. I’m here.”  
He can tell from the way her shoulders move that she isn’t breathing properly, her breath coming out in ragged gasps.   
“Try to breathe deeply Clara. Focus on the Tardis, follow her pattern.” The background hum of the ship has shifted gently in pitch, mimicking ideal human breathing rate. “Can you hear that?” he asks, knowing from experience she won’t be able to reply just yet. “That’s the Tardis. Just focus on her and me. You’re safe with us.”   
Some of the tension leaves her shoulders as her breathing slows down, and he uncurls one of his hands in his lap that has somehow formed itself into a fist.   
“Your body thinks you are in danger. You’re safe in the Tardis. If you can, relax your legs. It’ll help with the breathing.” 

Most human reactions are difficult for him to understand, but as a member of a psychic species, he’s no stranger to the effects of mental illness on the brain. On the whole, humans may be more fragile, but their response to trauma is uncomfortably close to his own experience. Next to him, Clara slowly releases her knees from the lock her hands have formed, pushing them out in front of her one after the other. Hands falling limply by her sides, she sighs deeply, the strain of keeping her breathing level showing on her face. 

Although he cannot truly imagine it, he knows his Clara (and most other humans) use touch to ground themselves and feel safe. He pulls on the sleeve of his jumper, covering his hand as he asks hesitantly: “is touching okay?”   
Anyone else would probably have missed the almost imperceptible nod, the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth. He places his hand very slowly next to her on the sofa, inching his covered fingers over to hers. Especially under the current circumstances, initiating touch would be a violation on his part, and so he waits for her to grasp the wool of his sleeve. She scrunches it while making a fist against his covered palm, mostly oblivious to the permanent psychic current buzzing through him. Still, he wills himself to relax; thinks of her and the Tardis and the universe and all the other people and things he loves, just in case anything slips through.   
“Clara Clara Clara,” he repeats, almost like a mantra, while her fingers uncurl and rest themselves on his hand. The last of the tension leaves her shoulders and she lets out a breath, sagging back into the pillows at her back. She’s still covering his hand with hers and so he glances up for the first time since he came into the room, looks up through the transparent ceiling at the millions of stars around them. The Tardis changes slowly in pitch again, lights in the room dimming gently to an amber glow as she taps into his emotions. He’s probably visited almost every one of the systems he’s looking at, but it is still just as impossible as the day they ran away to explore.

He turns to her, wants to tell her that internal demons are the hardest monsters to fight but that doesn’t mean it is impossible; wants to tell her about the starlight in her blood and all the specks of universe dust that came together in her bones, because it’s beautiful regardless of the darkness in her mind, and if she can’t see it now he’ll keep reminding her until she can. 

Her eyes are red with tears when she finally opens them, and he squeezes her hand. They sit and watch the stars in silence.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, it's based on one of my headcanons, this time on the fact that I am convinced Clara's developed PTSD at some point during her travels with the Doctor, most likely after Death In Heaven. Or maybe she's had it ever since the death of her mother, and it all got triggered even more with Danny's death. Who knows. In any case, she's going to have a rough time after last Christmas, what with all the brain-messing going on there. I imagine she gets triggered more than once even abroad the Tardis (internal triggers especially aren't exactly things you can control easily), and the Doctor and her develop a routine to help her cope. 
> 
> Final obligatory disclaimer: This fic is not intended as a guide on how to help someone who's experiencing a panic attack or flashbacks. I've mostly just inserted my own experience into this, but that doesn't make it universal. Not everyone with PTSD experiences their illness in the same way, and everyone has different triggers and coping mechanisms. The best way to provide the most appropriate care for someone going through flashbacks and/or panic attacks is to ask them ahead of time what they prefer: talking, touching, blanket forts, etc. Never make assumptions and ALWAYS ask before you touch someone.


End file.
